A Little Girl's Journey
by LimitlessFantasy
Summary: Whether human or something else, we all make many different journeys throughout our lives. But how can we tell which ones are real... and which aren't?


_Hey everyone! Today on September the 1st, (Hogwarts, I'm coming home) I'm partaking in the Official Claymore Fanfic Day over at Tumblr - and this is my Claymore one-shot written for this occasion. Be warned that it contains spoilers for the series... Though that's probably to be expected whatever story you read. Anyway, happy reading, and don't be afraid to give me feedback! I live on it._

The frail girl dressed in a frail, patched dress and frail, grey shoes was lying on the ground. Sharp rocks poked her in the stomach. She wished that she could sleep in that lovely, soft bed she had laid in three nights ago.

Another day had passed.

Another day lying in this empty, hollow area surrounded by rocks and blood and three dead bodies.

Another day which had left her even more starved and dehydrated than she had been the night before.

Another day of disturbing, shattering thoughts entering her mind, set on not leaving until sleep caught her in its claws.

Cradling the object closer to her chest, the little girl closed her eyes and prayed that she would fall asleep soon.

When the girl next opened her eyes, the sun was shining again. It hadn't shone since the day when she had lost everything.

She saw a person in the distance. They were dressed in black.

The girl stumbled up and ran as fast as she could to reach them. She tripped multiple times, hell bent on clutching the object in her grip even closer to her chest, for she would never forgive herself if she dropped it; the most precious thing she had ever held in her dainty little arms.

When she reached the man, everything disappeared in a flurry of darkness and pain.

Months later, she was dressed in a silver outfit, carrying a large claymore on her back, and she dreamt of getting revenge for what the monster had done to her, and to the one that she had loved.

Her hair was no longer lengthy and brown, but short and blonde.

She had met another person, just like her. And then another, and another, and another.

They all looked the same.

They all lived for the same purpose.

To slay creatures such as the one who had stolen her saviour from her quivering, grasping hands.

The girl met a woman with spiky hair, moving as fast as if she had been a ghost, a phantom. She found a friend in her.

The girl met two other women. One who had the ability to extend her limbs, another who was capable of healing her own wounds with astonishing speed. She found friends in them as well.

The girl met a woman with a long braid falling down her back. Her newly found comrades had warned her about this woman. She proved to be lethal. Their encounter resulted in the girl losing her arm.

The girl met countless others of her kind – but ultimately, none of them shared her goal. To slay the specific creature she was hunting. To slay the one who had taken everything from her. She would continue to hunt the monster down until the end of time.

The girl then encountered a woman who had the power to thrust her sword through monsters like a drill. Her death left the girl very upset.

Throughout her journey, the girl experienced loss. Suffering. Defeat. Yet, none of it was enough to prevent her from reaching her goal. She kept pressing on.

Because how could she give up now?

At last, the moment came.

The girl stood on the battlefield, surrounded by her comrades in arms, all dressed in the same outfit as her, all carrying the same heavy broadswords.

Her opponent, the slayer of her hopes and dreams personified, something that had once been what she and the others warriors were now, stood in front of her.

And something awoke within the girl. Or rather, _someone._

She could feel her protector, her saviour, blossom within her, talking to her, telling her that she still and always would love her, that she would be safe, that she would always be able to find her, and speak to her, draw comfort from her, and-

Clare woke up.

She was lying on the hill covered in stone, rocks poking into her stomach. The sun wasn't shining. She clutched the severed head of Teresa of the Faint Smile to her chest. She hugged the only part of her rescuer that she had left.

It had all been nothing but another dream.


End file.
